


Not Our Kind

by grumblebee



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, It's P&P adjacent, M/M, Pining, Pride & Prejudice AU, Romantic Tension, pre-expedition, rewriting the canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/pseuds/grumblebee
Summary: Captain Francis Crozier is far from the sea. When financial troubles push back the long awaited Franklin Expedition, the officers aboard the Terror move to the countryside while awaiting news. While there, Crozier is introduced to the newest officer of the expedition; a pompous, stubborn bastard named James Fitzjames. If Fitzjames is chosen for the expedition, Crozier might fight him before he must serve with him.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Not Our Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sgt_jerk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgt_jerk/gifts).



The mid-morning rain stopped sometime between pouring hot water and steeping his tea, a window so brief that it brought a pinched frown to Crozier’s face. Something about the idyllic countryside never sat right with him. It was all too safe...too predictable. The only fun anyone had was being caught in an unexpected downpour, and even those were few and far between. The promise was always there, as not even quiet pastures could escape grey British skies, but it wasn’t quite the same. The rain smelled sweet when it passed, heavy with the scent of grass and soil. It didn’t sting the eyes or leave his hair stiff with salt like the sea did. There was no bite or fury to it. No satisfaction in conquering it. Just irritability and muddy shoes.

Crozier could not adjust to this kind of irritability, despite being well seasoned in disappointment. His second proposal to Miss Cracroft had failed miserably. Then came the news that his long awaited arctic expedition had been postponed. On paper, it was a lack of funds...or willingness to part with them on the side of the crown. Crozier had spent too many hours trying to convince men who had barely sailed north of Scotland how necessary cold weather gear was. That the cold they knew was nothing like the deep freeze they were sending good men into. In the end he was forwarded a letter detailing the postponement of his journey, laced with some vague language to insinuate he may not even be asked to rejoin. Of course the rumor mill turned, and the timing of his failed proposal to Miss Cracroft entered the long list of reasons he was without a ship or a purpose. 

The final straw had been a terrible accident in which Blanky was struck by a carriage after stumbling into the street during a night of heavy drinking. The man was fine--Crozier had no doubt even when told the news-- but the leg was lost, and it became clear that they could not stay in London any longer. His already assembled crew could not commit to steady work while the voyage was in limbo. Their pay from their last voyage was dwindling, and London was simply too expensive. By March, Blanky was mostly healed, and he was able to walk on his wooden leg without assistance. The two came to the decision to leave London, and offered up the option to leave with them to several members of the crew. By April, their new temporary home had been located, and the men moved to the countryside. 

A country estate was no ship, but sharing it with five men was as close to seafaring life as possible for the time being. Crozier settled into his new room quickly, making sure he shared a wall with Blanky in case he was needed. He felt at ease knowing Goodsir was right down the hall, and had happily volunteered to leave his cramped London quarters. On the floor below, Jopson and Little split their room in half, while Peglar and Bridgens mixed their belongings nicely. And though it was only the end of spring, the men hunkered down in the modest white and green house as though winter were fast approaching. Crozier had decided it was wishful thinking. 

“You heard the news?” 

The side kitchen door swung open abruptly, sending wet leaves and water droplets skittering across the otherwise immaculate floors. Out of the corner of his eye, Crozier spied Blanky as he hobbled into the kitchen, lifting his wooden leg a little higher than usual to avoid spreading the mud caked to the bottom three inches of it. 

“Heard what? Have Mrs. Coulty’s ducks turned loose again?” Crozier grumbled. He placed the small strainer over his teacup and poured, watching as the loose leaves got caught in the sive. Blanky laughed.  
  
“Bigger duck this time. News is that Sir John is coming to town. They’ve started to clean his country estate for his arrival. He plans to summer here.” He said, slapping Crozier’s shoulder playfully. “You may get your voyage afterall.”

“Ha.” Crozier huffed. “Or the promise of it dangled before my eyes---the _floor_ , Thomas! Mr. Jopson just mopped it.” He sighed as Jopson rounded the corner, summoned by his name and the need to keep busy within the house. “My apologies, Mr. Jopson. Mr. Blanky has laid waste to your good work here, it seems.” Crozier said, gesturing to the mud tracks leading from the door to the seat in which Blanky now sat. 

“It’s no problem, sirs. I can get it back in order.”

“Thank you.” Crozier replied wearily. Blanky groaned as Jopson lifted his false leg, swabbing away the mud with a clean rag.

“Come on now, Francis. This is _good news_. Sir John’s got a friend every fifty miles in the whole of Britain, and he’s summering here. No doubt to patch things up with you after what happened. He needs an experienced Captain.” Blanky said. He paused to lift his natural leg, following Jopsons silent instructions not to drip more mud. “We were scouted, vetted, and our contract was already drafted. Makes no sense to start from scratch, now.”

Crozier leaned against the counter, cradling his teacup in his palms. “From scratch? No. But to severely undermine my advice and my authority? Yes. I have no doubts they see our moving to the countryside as desperate. A few cool months of no pay will make us eager to cooperate here, but make sacrifices that will possibly kill us later.” He sipped his tea, face scrunched with disapproval. “It isn’t the way. Sir John will just have to see it my way.” Blanky laughed.

“Sir John doesn’t have to see it any way. But we can try, eh? Sitting here in the house won’t do much.” 

Jopson rose from the floor, rag in hand as he made his way to the basin. “He’s right, sir. Perhaps you could write a letter to Sir John. Express your delight at his plans to enjoy the fresh air.” Crozier quirked a brow.

“Mr. Jopson, do I look like a man who takes delight in other people’s plans?” 

Jopson smiled. “Perhaps for Sir John’s sake, you are.”

***

A letter had been sent two weeks prior, wishing all the best for a lovely summer. As advised by both Blanky and Jopson, the message was brief. There was no mention of the northwest passage, of the Terror or Erebus docked and unattended, and nary a word of Miss Cracroft aside from the kindest regards to Sir John and his family. By the time it was sealed and sent, Francis Crozier was a man anew; level-headed, heart-mended, spirit soothed by the therapeutic English countryside --- on paper. In person, Crozier hadn’t slept a wink in days. The minute the letter left his hands the burden of sending it weighed on him. His character was already viewed as too pushy, too ambitious. No doubt his best regards would be taken in the worst fashion. 

The Franklin summer estate was almost done being readied. Every day fresh news of it arrived, mostly by word of mouth. Bridgens had made fast friends with the local bookseller, and learned of Sir John’s plans to throw a party soon after his arrival. The butchers and bakers had all been arranged. Goodsir and Little heard more news when traveling into town for supplies, that Lady Jane would be accompanying her husband, but Miss Cracroft would remain in London. As the date of arrival grew closer, Blanky reaped the best information, needling it out of piss drunk stewards at the local tavern. 

“He’s bringing someone with him. James Fitzjames, a younger commander.” Blanky said one morning, nursing his hangover with a cup of broth. “Another gallant one, no doubt.” 

Crozier flipped through his book absentmindedly, his nerves too unsettled for the words to make sense. 

“Perhaps he is my replacement. Sir John means to have me impart some wisdom, and then be done with me.”

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think.” Blanky groaned. “There’s still two ships, Francis. Terror’s yours. She won’t take anyone else. This man will probably keep Sir John company on Erebus...chaperone him…” 

“You wouldn’t be wrong” Crozier laughed. “I’d wager he was handpicked by Lady Jane too.”

“Captain?”

The two men looked to the doorway, finding Goodsir there. He stood awkwardly, holding in his hands a little cream colored square of paper. He fiddled with it nervously, trying to act as though he didn’t feel the weight of it over the house the past few weeks.

“A letter has arrived from London for you...from Sir John.”

Crozier breathed deeply, and gestured for the letter to be handed over. “Don’t look so frightened, Mr. Goodsir. Whether or not I am invited to the Arctic, a doctor is always needed onboard.” Goodsir passed the letter to him, stepping aside to hover over Blanky’s shoulder as Crozier opened it. “Now then, let us see what well wishing is good for...”

“ _Dear Cpt. Crozier, I am delighted_ \--- Oh, there’s that word again, _delighted to hear from you on what I hope is a restorative stay in the countryside._ ” Crozier paused to tap the wooden shin of Blanky’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Did you lose a leg or did I?” 

“Go on with it.” Blanky laughed.

“ _The news is correct, and I will be arriving at my summer estate by the end of May. Under the wise advice of my wife, Lady Jane, I am writing to extend an official invitation to our welcoming party. I extend this to not only you, but to the fine crew members of the Terror who have been waiting diligently for instruction. While this is not an occasion to discuss business, it is one I look forward to, and I hope to speak with you there as friends. Never fear, it has been a difficult year, but God has thought about our endeavors and smiled. I will discuss the matter further when the time is right._ ”

Crozier stopped, reading the letter once more in silence to himself. It wasn’t a no...but not exactly a yes. It wasn’t much of anything, except an excuse to socialize. Blanky looked up from his cup.

“Don’t go throwing that in the fire, now, Francis.” Blanky smiled. “We can’t afford top shelf spirits the way Sir John can.” Crozier smiled, folding the letter up and tucking it in the pocket of his waistcoat.

“I don’t intend to.”

***

One would think Captain Sir John Franklin was throwing a wedding, rather than a party, solely by the way the whole town hummed as it neared. Prominent families dotted the countryside, and orders for ribbons, dresses, and other fine items were being ordered en masse to the shops in town. Upon seeing the ladies ride into town in new carriages, Blanky joked about finding a good piece of mangled meat at the butcher, with the intent on stuffing it into his wooden boot in the hopes of duping someone into buying him a gilded one. And while Crozier sternly shot down his idea, he knew it would only be a drop in the bucket for many of the women leaving the shops with their valet’s trailing behind them under the weight of five new gowns. 

By the night of the party, the whole household was abuzz. Crozier took his time in his room, straightening the lapels on his jacket just so. It had been a while since he donned his formal uniform, and he tried not to think too hard about the last time it was worn. Still, the stench of rejection didn’t linger on it, nor did the smell of whiskey, and so it was in good shape for the evening. Crozier examined himself in the mirror, noting that his uniform was not quite as snug as it once was. Perhaps it would be a noticeable change, a sign that he was taking care of himself in the way he was supposed to. Anything that would put him back in Franklin’s graces, and grant him access to the sea once more. 

A soft knock broke Crozier’s concentration, causing him to stumble and knock over a small stack of papers. “Oh, for--- come _in_.” Thomas Blanky slipped in the door, his formal attire a refreshing change from the casual muddied ensembles he walked through the garden in. 

“The men are ready. Could probably use a few words before we head out.”

“Words? A speech for a party?”

“Or a finger of whiskey each. Francis, they’ve been soaking up what you’ve been drippin’ these past few weeks, and that’s fear. Just a couple words before the carriage arrives.”

“Oh alright. But just a few…” he sighed. “Pour the whiskey anyway, I’ll be right down.”

Downstairs in the parlor the crew had gathered to await their carriage. They fiddled with their uniforms, trading off each other’s drinks so they could take turns smoothing themselves out in front of the mirror. The excitement was palpable, and for a brief moment as Crozier descended the stairs he felt as though their expedition was only a moment away. 

“Alright men, gather close. I see you’ve already helped yourselves to a drink.” Crozier said, suspecting Blanky had passed out drinks well before asking his permission to do so. “Though, I do ask that you please save your thirst for the party and the courtesy of our host.” The men hushed, and gathered into a small group in the center of the parlor. Blanky handed a glass of whiskey to Crozier, and he swirled it thoughtfully.

“I had hoped that our first meeting in uniform would be on the deck of the Terror, and that our first toast would be to the health and safety of our mission. But, life had other plans.” Crozier looked around the room, taking in the array of mixed emotions on the faces of his crew. His uncertainty was contagious, and it showed.

“However, that is not to say that the Franklin Expedition is canceled. Sir John has graciously invited us to his home, and I hope to be in contact with him about when our mission will resume. I expect that if the news is good, that by next spring we will not be counting ladybugs in the garden, but counting bears in the far north. I have asked a lot of you--the five of you-- and I know that it has been hard. It has been hard saying goodbye to the other good men who were supposed to be with us. But tonight, I ask that you leave those hardships here, and enjoy yourself.” 

Crozier raised his glass, and the room followed suit. 

“Alright, you heard him! Captain’s blessing. Now go drink Franklin dry” Blanky cheered, tossing back his drink and leaving the glass on the mantle. Crozier drained his glass, opting to leave it on the side table beside Goodsir.

“No debauchery, remember! We want to be hired.” His concerns were met with mixed cheers and protests, like a group of school children running out for the day. With one last passing glance in the mirror, Crozier trailed behind his men, picking up the end of a chorus he hadn’t sung in years. 

***

“My goodness, isn’t this marvelous.”

The crew had dispersed quickly once they entered Franklin’s stately manor, but Goodsir had lingered beside Crozier as they walked the length of the foyer. The young doctor marveled at the various sculptures and paintings adorning the wall, taking it all in for the very first time. Crozier smiled, and took two drinks off a passing tray. 

“It is. Lady Jane has an eye for the decorative. It keeps her busy whilst Sir John is out.” Crozier took a sip, pausing to admire the quality of the liquor. “If you have a passion for art I recommend speaking with her. I’m certain she would give you a tour.”

Goodsir hummed, looking up at a painting hung high on the wall. “I do appreciate it, though I know little.”

“I know Little”

“I am Little.”

Two voices chimed from behind, belonging to Blanky and Little. The two leaned on one another precariously, as though supporting each other’s weight. Crozier felt something in his temple throb at the sight of them.

“We have not been here for fifteen minutes--”

“And this party started an hour ago. Believe me, we are behind. I’m minding my manners, don’t get twisted.” Blanky said, scooching up to use Little’s shoulder as a crutch. “You should see the glass Sir John poured for himself, he could knock you down with it.” He gestured towards the large ballroom at the end of the foyer, so crowded with people that the music barely sounded above the noise of chatter and dancing. 

“Spirits are good then?”

“Very good.”

Crozier was pleasantly surprised. “Well then...continue. Keep up with the party.”

“Yessir Cap’n”

“And take Goodsir with you. No one should be saddled up with me at a party.”

Blanky grabbed Goodsir, guiding him to his other arm, so that both Goodsir and Little acted as his supports. “Alright lads, let’s go! Another round!”

***

It had been months since Crozier found himself in the thicke of a party this grand. He felt as though his social wheels needed grease, as his first few conversations were stiff and awkward. It occurred to him that his time in recluse had put him at a disadvantage. Gossip in London never stops, and the best way out of gossip was to endure it until it was no longer tantalizing. Crozier’s move to the countryside proved the opposite. He was no longer a captain on shore leave, but a wounded lover trying to re-enter society. Most of the women who approached him were aware of his relationship with Miss Cracroft, and unsubtly tried to needle the details out of him. The men were much bolder, asking if he was single and looking to entertain a lady for the night. The common thread was his failed proposals, and the notion that his presence at the party wavered between courtesy and oddity.

“Captain Crozier!” a voice bellowed. Crozier turned, trying his damnedest not to spill his drink. Apparently he had made his presence known enough, and the host was ready to greet him properly. Sir John Franklin cut through the crowd, leading with his drink hand. 

“Sir John, it’s a pleasure.” Crozier said, putting on his best party face. It felt unnatural, but it was what it was. Sir John responded well to it, returning a smile that felt more genuine. 

“As it is to host you. I’ve seen your men floating around the party, and they seem in good spirits. But here you are alone. I hope everything is to your liking?” he asked, looking around as if to find someone to pair Crozier up with.

“It is more than satisfactory, I assure you. I try not to indulge with the men too much, to preserve our ranks while ashore. They are best left to their own devices. Much more fun for them that way.” Crozier explained. Sir John’s eyes still flitted around the party, and in the light of the candles Crozier could observe the sheen of sweat that covered him. 

“Absolutely correct. That’s what I admire about you, Francis, you keep a ship balanced. We as captains need not be dry as a haystack, but we must uphold our authority. That being said, there is someone of the acceptable drinking rank I would like you to meet tonight-- Oh, _here_ man!” 

A man was called over from the crowd, somewhere behind Crozier. He called back a muffled reply, all but lost in the cacophony of the crowd. But Sir John insisted, and kept on waving, only ceasing as whoever it was drew near.

“Ah, excellent. Francis, this is Commander James Fitzjames. He will be with me aboard the Erebus when the expedition resumes. James, this is Captain Crozier, he commands Terror.” 

Crozier turned to meet the man named Fitzjames. What he found was a tall, thin man, who stood nearly a head taller than him. Where Crozier felt his time at sea had grizzled him, Fitzjames didn’t quite look the part of an experienced seaman. He held himself like Sir John, and cradled his drink in uncalloused hands. But dressed up in a matching uniform to Crozier, he looked the perfect picture of British might-- all shiny buttons and perfectly set hair. Crozier bit the inside of his cheek, hoping that this wasn’t all a rouse to measure him against his replacement publicly. If it was, Sir John made no mention of it. 

“I wanted the two of you to meet tonight before I make any formal announcements about the expedition. I know I’ve kept you in the lurch, Francis, but your expertise is greatly needed. And now that I have both of you here, I feel the mission can continue. Am I right to presume you are both up to the task?”

“You are. I’d be honored.” Fitzjames replied, a little dryly for Crozier’s taste. 

“As would I, if prior concerns---”

“None of that tonight, Francis. I’m arranging an officer’s dinner later this month precisely for that. I want no detail forgotten, and tonight I am willing to forget most things.” Sir John chided. “But that depends on if you still want a seat at the table.” Crozier tasted blood. 

“I do, sir. It would be an honor.”

“Excellent. It’s settled. Now, I must find my Lady Jane. Enjoy the party. I trust you to have a good time.” With that Sir John was off, melting into the crowd where Crozier presumed he wouldn’t be found for the rest of the evening. Meanwhile, Fitzjames stood next to him rigidly. Crozier sighed.

“Welcome to the expedition, Mr. Fitzjames. Did you bring company, or were you summoned by Lady Jane?”

Fitzjames smiled curtly. “ Sir John and I met last year. I had applied for this expedition and was awaiting some news when it was postponed. Seeing as your ship was in order, posts were filled on Erebus only recently.” His answer was informative, but not cordial. Crozier glanced at his hand, noticing the ice rattling at the bottom. 

“Another drink then?”

“I’m quite alright.”

“I’m surprised.” Crozier said, sipping his drink. “Most men try to keep up with their commanders at a party.” Fitzjames sipped on the watered down whiskey at the bottom of his glass. 

“Most men make fools of themselves trying. Excuse me.” 

Crozier was frozen mid-sip, stunned at the way in which Fitzjames ended their conversation. The man took his glass and left, weaving through the crowd so nimbly that Crozier lost sight of him within seconds. The last he saw was his dark mop of hair skirting the edge of the room, ducking into a neighboring parlor. Though the crowd continued to celebrate, Crozier felt stuck. Like a fly caught in a bubbling class of champagne. The figure of Thomas Blanky stepped into his peripheral, a twisted look on his face.

“What miserable bastard was that?”

Crozier set his near-full glass on a passing tray.  
  


“None I’d like to associate with.”


End file.
